


swan song

by qlossxier



Category: The Handmaid's Tale (TV), The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Couch Sex, Emotional Manipulation, F/F, Flashbacks, Heresy, I'm Going to Hell, Implied Sexual Content, Past Rape/Non-con, Please don't judge me, Religious Conflict, Religious Fanaticism, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sexual Content, So Wrong It's Right, and so is nick LMAO, but that's cool, fred is basically nonexistent, honestly this entire ship is blasphemous, i love these two, june is being manipulative, june likes that, lots and lots of heresy, madonna-whore, scrabble and times before uwu, serena falls for june like a fucking cliff, serena joy is petty, serena joy selfish bitch i love her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2020-07-12 05:48:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19941220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qlossxier/pseuds/qlossxier
Summary: Serena Joy falls from grace in grandeur.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> edit: hellooooo guys i had a major cringe attack as i reread this work. it's newly edited and slightly longer so i hope you enjoyyy :)
> 
> edit 2: newly edited + new summary!
> 
> -
> 
> set around s2e7 and s2e8. please enjoy!! i wrote this at 1:40 in the morning uwu
> 
> thank u all for the kudos i cry a little every time I see it go up :')

Serena Joy Waterford didn't consider her relationship with June to be, in any way, romantic. What other option was there available here? In Gilead, there is no romance. There are men, all equally tempted by the forbidden fruit, by his counterpart since creation.

This entire fucking regime, it was just an array of the shameful masking their treacherous sins with their assigned colors. Conspicuity determined who lived and who died, none else.

It was only temporary desolation, Serena reminded herself, that attracted her to what should never be of her interest since the beginning. It felt sinful, because it was, but sacrifice was required for His holy kingdom to reign. It was an idealism she'd pursued her entire life. Surely God saw her fit to some kind of relief after all she had given up for this cause.

Frankly again, it was the approval of what she had been before that she sought when sacrilegious sensations pierced her lower abdomen every time she met eyes with the red-dressed culprit. 

Serena can recognize her presence now simply by her footsteps. It felt perverting, as most things usually are in Gilead as a woman, but her other remaining option was her God-bidden pig she calls her husband. There she went again, justifying the way her lips parted ever so slightly when she saw loose crimson cloth hug her curves.

Fred seemed to have lost Serena in his overpowering, clearly intellectual capacity. Her thighs still ached as the reverberance of the whipping came alive back into mind. What had gone so wrong?

Hiding under the mud along with a few of his other holy Commander friends, Fred was a fool, a false leg used to construct a false fantasy. He was too audacious, like the tax collector in the story of the Pharisee gone up to pray.

Serena did not know for sure. The Bible's words were up to interpretation, but she had no interest in losing what was now her pinky finger for such an offense to review to the scripture.

For Serena, it was different, or so she had convinced herself. She had ambition. A fire that could not be extinguished by what she had contact with. She consumed everything she touched; she was a viral infection to some, and a flame of awakening for others.

Either way, she liked it. She was galvanized by the influence, by the power she could have over people’s minds, by the authoritative Goddess she was ennobled into. But in Gilead, her capacity fades. And no matter how much she bargains with the heavenly kingdom she had helped create, the sensation of where His holiness had ascended in the past, where her passion burned ever so gracefully through the feeble pages she scribbled onto, was replaced by a hollow, sickening interlude that will no longer resume.

Surprisingly, the empty gap was not filled by more faith, but fervor.

It initiated with a simple game of scrabble(a luxury that Serena had always envied from June. Fred had declined several offers to play the banned pastime.). Serena had held out the box, saying nothing as June watched with a smirk from the corner of the room. She knew exactly what was going on, like she always does. Maybe Serena should've saw through it.

The riveting sounds of two women placing letters down on a board had replaced the Commander's den.

For hours, they talked of Before. The time when June had 'accidentally' spilt coffee on her questionable male colleague. The time when a tomato flew across Serena's face onto a giant placard of her book. (June laughs at that, a bit too hysterically.) The time when Hannah discovered a squirrel inside Luke's backpack.

"She was precious. Scared, too." she'd said. "It took a while for Luke to explain to Hannah why we couldn't keep him."

Serena had taken note of June's strongly apparent dimples.

"She—she cried so much that day. Hung on to his backpack as she was scared the squirrel would shoot out of it. We had wait until she fell asleep before we let the squirrel go." June's eyes had begun to water.

"I miss her."

Hannah, that damned child of hers. 

"I miss her so, so, much, Serena."

Something inside her cracks. She can almost hear it.

What was it?

Rage? jealousy? a combination of both?

Either way, Serena crumbles. For June, even at that moment, Serena was a game of manipulation. Someone to be toyed with to extract a result. Her dimples, her smiles, her tears weren't real, not with her.

This hint of mercy she would show, the gap between the both of them, their cracks and crevices filled for once not by hatred but with, a curious empathy. But reality— it suffocated her, thrashed her back into her cage of Gilead. Whatever remained of the gentleness had been replaced one more time by an abyss of acrimony.

Maybe this is exactly what she wants, for Serena to hate her, to want to shred her into pieces. That woman held a power over her, just like that. She was capable of it from the beginning, when she walked into the home with the two functioning ovaries of hers. First it's her husband, then it's Nick, and finally it's her.

Wooden pieces with blasphemous engravings scattered all over the floor. No god, or woman, could save Serena from her hot tears, dribbling down her face, as June watched silently in stasis with a blank expression. 

It was impulse— It's the only way to describe it— for what else could it possibly be? it could be love, but it was of serious doubt. She had held her down once, her legs opened wide, hands clawing into to her bare skin. The bed had creaked in a repulsive manner— she recalled—and as indifferent as it may sound, all Serena remembered from most of her Ceremonies with June were images of purple orchids. She had read before, once when womanly words were those of God, about how memories are malleable— prone to distortion.

Orchids, rape, and love were not exactly synonymous.

But June's lips had felt like, simply put, the restoration of her entire divinity. The missing spark that fueled her emptiness into something else. An essence that exploded throughout every part of her flesh each time their skin would press harder. It felt like a prayer— for what, she didn't know.

Her white bonnet loosened itself as Serena grabbed restlessly onto her face, and streaks of blonde fell from between her pious headdress. June's breath heaved rhythmically along with hers. Part of her screamed at her to stop this nonsense, to fucking control herself, to push this fallen woman away, to see God's will shine through the breath of morning as only the buzzing flies accompanied the heretics' fate. 

But fuck, it had felt so, _right_.

How could it? All Serena Joy Waterford had was God's word and her husband. There was a time when Fred looked at her the way June, no, _God_ does. When he planted kisses instead of bruises onto her neck, when he would smile as they laid in close proximity in their high-rise apartment, when he would plate chocolate croissants and a cup of coffee as she wrote her books, and when she should laugh and chase after him for calling her chubby. 

For a split-second, the vision of him had crossed her mind. He no longer stood with a smile, or croissants. He held a Bible. And a belt.

June, as if reading her vulnerability, abruptly stopped the kiss, pushing Serena's grabby hands away from her tangled locks. 

They were both panting, and for the first time, Serena had gotten a good look at her. Her blue eyes were glazed, pupils dilated, and her cheeks were flushed pink. What was she thinking of?

Serena then imagined Fred, or Rita, or Nick, or any of the Guardians walking into the same room. Would they notice? would they notice June's flustered cheeks? would they notice her erratic breathing and her swollen lips? maybe Nick would, but there was something about him that she'd always found unnerving. She then realizes and promptly denies the fact that it could've simply been petty jealousy.

What was real was the intimate hand squeezes she gave to him when nobody looked, not her forced grin as Serena fantasized about her time with a burnt book that put June through hell.

Serena sought more from June that she had ever for Fred—and she secretly hoped it was the same way with June in regards to Nick. 

She sought fulfillment, but to a point she could not comprehend. She sought her faith, a belief, her reason. She sought for pleasure, for pain, for feeling.

"Serena." June throatily whispered.

Her voice. It gets to her.

Serena angrily resumed the kiss, demanding for June's compliance.

As June’s white nightgown fell to the ground like a gracious offering, and as Serena’s panting intensified while June’s hands searched for her bra clasp, unhooking what remained of her God, she knew that nothing mattered anymore, because imagining what could be in this world was futile.

She had offered everything that remained of her to a soul similar, but so different, to what she was. All of Serena Joy was now of June Osborne.

This was her swan song, a final inclination towards atonement to who she was and who she will be after everything was over, whether it meant her being hung with a pink triangle on her hood or an endured life of this abhorrent monthly ritualized threesome.

She had assured herself, in the early years of Gilead, that it'll become a normal occurrence. Her strangely chronic post-ceremony vomiting had told her otherwise. If sending June was God's way of punishing Serena for what she'd done, he'd made an insanely pertinent choice.

And after a while, when only primal desire remained within, their bare bodies tangled upon in the green leather couch of the Commander, no thought had remained. Overwhelming primal instinct prevailed— though ironically, no aspect of their act was what God would describe as innate.

Either way, all Serena was able to hear was the sound of June’s loud, breathy moans and her expression when her finger shot her into outer space— and an echo, of what possibly could have been, the screams of Mrs. Waterford as she died quietly in agony.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Chapter 1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was not meant to have a part 2 but i felt like i edited the 1st chapter way too much so it kinda changed its essence lol... technically this chapter can be standalone but i'd like to include it here :D so yeah make sure to check my very edited first chapter out if you haven't yet !
> 
> i will also likely edit this chapter a million times because i always find something I hate about my writing lol but....
> 
> please enjoy!

It was probably safe enough for June Osborne to assume Serena Joy had finally lost her mind.

Ironic, really. June first impression of this woman was when she'd gnawed at her ass like an irate cat if she caught her staring at her precious Fred for a bit longer than she'd liked. A reasonable judgement, considering his development of a strange obsession over June, but at this rate she had screwed with every member of the Waterford household.

Serena was awkwardly perched in between her legs as June still struggled to respirate. Serena Joy Waterford, a gender traitor? fucking comedic. June could've outright laughed— _could've._ But she isn't laughing, and she most definitely expect herself on the other side of this absurd equation.

Fuck, why didn't she push her away? why was she lying here, her breath heaving rapidly as Serena's fingers, the same ones that buried itself into June's wrists, sent her into euphoria?

For as long as she knew, all this was going to be a game of Scrabble. Scrabble to screw with her mind, not her fucking body. Serena did seem quite a bit shaken these past few days, asking for her personalized servant-womb to help her _write._ It would definitely be a lie if June had said she didn't enjoy holding a pen with Serena, feeling the metal tip glide across her neat handwriting, blasting the Commander's music at a dangerously exhilarating volume.

But this, this was something completely different. She wasn't holding a cup of coffee, enjoying a secret, harmless act of rebellion with a few papers and Fred Waterford's forged signature. She wasn't scratching in some secret message behind the walls of her closet, hoping that some future Offred wouldn't be discovered hanging from the ceiling.

She was fucking, no, getting fucked by a high Commander's wife, until her legs shook and eyes rolled back while her body turned hot in immense pleasure. If this wasn't the most obscene bookmark made in Gileadean history since its creation, what could be?

She doesn't know if it's relief or frustration that hits her when she sees Serena's expression. She doesn't look like Mrs. Waterford, not anymore with her topless, flushed chest, her disheveled hair and irregular breathing against June's neck. 

"June."

She speaks weakly, longingly, for the first time, and June knows what she wants. She always wanted something from her. First her baby, then her own husband, followed by her sanity, and now this. What was next? What the fuck could this woman possibly take from her now?

Her mouth was pink and parted, her hands snaking against her growing belly. She's taken her sanity, but not all of it. The sanity that she hoarded, the pieces she chipped away every morning waking up to the same damned bed. Small, but not insignificant.

There is something that could be made from that sanity. Something that can mess with her. June is a thinker. If she can refine words, she can refine this woman.

* * *

June has gone back to staring into space again. She doesn't look at her, not in the way she wants. What happened a few nights before was far from ordinary, but June seemed too unperturbed. She sat in the dinner table like a piece of goddamn furniture, shoving whatever Rita made that day into her mouth to fulfill Gilead's fetal nutrition requirements. The thought of the baby no longer excites Serena as much as before. She doesn't want to know why, for whatever that depraved reason could be.

She stares too much. June catches her, often more than a few times each day. Sometimes even smirks. Does she know what that's doing to her? Serena never looks away first, and she knows it's only her damned ego that keeps her gaze straight while her face turns hot. 

The things this woman was capable of irritated her. She guesses that's what truly distinguishes strong women from the ones that aren't. It was always her who was one step ahead, dipping her fingers in just enough honey to lure her prey. Her. 

Serena Joy bites her lip.

* * *

Serena looks at her, a bit too many times for comfort.

Leaving her with no pleasure was a brilliant choice. She had sat on the couch, saying nothing while half naked as June dressed herself. Was she upset?

Who would've knew? Serena Joy Waterford, pious, Godly wife of Fred Waterford, walking out of her own Woman's Place (June snorts.), forging her husband's signatures to pursue her _unwomanly_ hobby from Before, fucking her pregnant handmaid carrying her future child.

There are so many possibilities, now that she knows where she stands. How will she torture her? Maybe she'll grab onto Fred's hands while she's watching and see her soundly, symmetric face collapse. Or even better, she'll grab Nick. Plant a kiss on him when Fred's not around, but only her. She'll threaten her self-control. 

She's in her greenhouse for the entire day, now. Maybe she's avoiding June, gardening her heresy away. Sex with your pregnant handmaid? no worries, quid pro quo! A modest day of cutting flowers shall wash away your not so modest transgressions.

"Where are you going?" Rita asks. She's making bread, again.

"Just to see Mrs. Waterford." 

Rita raises her eyebrows. "I don't think she wants to be disturbed."

Of course she's left a precaution, but it's a flimsy one. June doubts Serena has ever seen her and Rita have a full conversation.

"I'll be fine."

Serena Joy's greenhouse still bloomed through the harsh winter. There she stood, her hair back again in a bun, tucked tightly and finished off with a blue cloth, a bouquet of white bedecking her full blue. She's flattered nobody but herself. She jumps when she sees June, and those precious plants of hers she's nurtured so carefully drop onto the floor.

"Why are you here?" she scowls. Her words aren't dry enough to convince anybody, but she does seem truly offended. June takes a step closer, and Serena remains in stasis. 

"I don't know."

It was a somewhat honest response. It has been a day since she's decided to mentally torture Serena Joy. Why was she here? June could see a fucking Guardian from the corner of her eyes across the street. She had unconsciously driven herself into Serena's presence amidst her absence. Maybe this was none of June's reality and all of what Serena Joy was trying to make her think. About her.

"Get out," she snaps, and grabs onto her garden shears. June flinches, but Serena only proceeds to cut more roses from the bush.

Fuck, so this was her plan. To play the crotchety child in blue. She's snipping at the same flower stem for the third time, so it's clear this is an act. 

June approaches her and leans in, touching just enough of her shoulder to make her flinch. Serena looks at her, eyes widened and mouth parted. She doesn't say anything as June inches in closer, and June is almost certain she can hear her racing heart. June remembers that she must toy with her, fiddle with every ounce of whatever she was feeling. So she tilts head into her ears instead, and says the first thing that comes through her mind.

"Knock tonight before you come in."

* * *

Serena Joy stops herself just before she touches the doorknob and forms her hand into a fist. She breathes her—her scent lingered outside the door, the scent of her skin and hair, the scent of whatever it was that drove her into this abyss of damnation. 

She knocks.

Serena inhales sharply when the door opens and June grabs her, pulling her in then closing the door immediately as she crushes her mouth onto hers. She wore her nightgown of white and her hair was no longer in a bun. Serena doesn't startle herself, grabbing onto June's arms, retaliating her kiss by a blustering grunt. 

June pushes her onto the bed and lifts Serena's dress, grabbing onto her thighs, grating against her as she grabbed onto her face. There isn't a single word exchanged as June undresses herself on top of Serena, flinging her gown off the bed as she begins to trail kisses down her neck. 

There was no point in convincing herself otherwise. Serena Joy ached for June, for her to touch her, for her to send her into someplace else but here. But June was something more than her impious desires. Who was she? She appeared out of nowhere, forced to offer her fertility and watch her friends give birth while Serena's give falsified ones. She has a loving husband, another kidnapped child, and a family, but she falls with Serena into the gates of hell.

They'll have to do it soon, too. Serena will be sitting on a chair, above June's head for the hundredth time, forcing a scream as she imagines a baby from between her own legs and not hers, squeezing the hands of Naomi Warren as she participates in this holy rite.

June's rotund belly showed through the space between them as she continued her kisses down to Serena's bare stomach. Serena whimpered as June touched hungrily, her reddened skin against hers, her hands frantically heading towards a destination. There is bliss, and there is too much of it. 

Serena Joy blinds herself.

* * *

Sometimes, although rarely, Serena remembers waking up in the morning with Fred from Before, his broad shoulders and bare back radiating with warmth with the sunlight gleaming through the window. 

There is no such warmth in the morning with June. 

She faces her back instead in the crisp, chilly air, her pale shoulders and chest embellished with bruises, her arms tucked underneath her head as she breathed steadily. The room was pitch black, but the increasing buzzing sounds of guardians speaking in the distance insinuated the approach of a new day.

June resembled a stoic Greek statue, polished in matte, positioned graciously onto the bed, telling a story with every mark on her body. Her shoulders heaved softly, creating ruffles onto her scratchy bedsheet, her gleaming hair pressed onto her pillow.

There was peace. Just her, just June, and of course their future baby. The coldness she breathed didn't feel unpleasant, not like this, not with her. Maybe it was denial. After all, she was merely a gender traitor, in ways more than one. But June gives comfort. She manipulates her, but with a strange sincerity that she cannot push away. 

Serena wraps her hands around June, not on her stomach, but her chest, and June moans as she scrambles into a more comfortable position from the newfound pressure. Her heart beats against Serena's arm. The room no longer feels forlorn.

At that moment, Serena Joy closes her eyes and prays for an eternal absence of the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am sorry this entire thing is a shitstorm and i am just TIRED and i want SEASON 4 and i'm crying internally and WHAT EVEN IS THIS i have officially gone insane in quarantine!! lets just completely ignore fred exists in this house hahahaha honestly this is basically plotless but i needed some june serena gay content in my life
> 
> thank u for reading :D

**Author's Note:**

> “A thinking woman sleeps with monsters  
> that beak which grips her, she becomes.”  
> ― Adrienne Rich


End file.
